


Words

by OdeToPedrazar (MyPrivateLaughter)



Series: Five Friends and Francis [20]
Category: Nothing Much to Do
Genre: F/M, M/M, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-20
Updated: 2015-01-20
Packaged: 2018-03-08 10:22:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3205742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyPrivateLaughter/pseuds/OdeToPedrazar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Caernarfon</i><br/>Benedick is cold but only one person really cares.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Words

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: A bit of Cymrophobia on Ben's part but no one is listening.

Pedro likes castles and he likes maps. So that was why they were hanging around inside Caernarfon Castle looking at a road map instead of sitting in Francis with the heaters and Sat Nav on.

Pedro sat with Benedick and Balthazar on a low ruined wall, his finger tracing down the A487, across the town Llanllyfni. “So we go down past… um, Lanel-yuf-nee?”

Balthazar was smirking. “I think it’s more like Clan-cluv-nee,” he said with a strange breathy pronunciation.

“How would you know how it’s pronounced? There’s not enough vowels!”

“Welsh was invented to piss off the English,” Benedick declared. “They have this inferiority complex so they invented a language that makes no sense.”

“My dad’s Welsh,” Balthazar said.

“What?” Pedro gave a laugh and looked at his friend wonderingly. “How did I not know that?”

Balthazar shrugged. “I don’t know. He hasn’t been back since before I was born. I mean, this is the first time I’ve been to Wales.”

Benedick looked as if he was taking this news badly. “You mean to say we’ve had a Welsh person in our midst this whole time?

“Half-Welsh,” Balthazar clarified.

“Do you have relatives around here then?” Pedro was entirely fascinated.

“Dad’s from South Wales.”

“Could we visit any of them?”

Balthazar laughed at how eager Pedro had become. “Nah, nah, I don’t know them.”

“Half Welsh and half Kiwi? The sheep jokes are just… _endless_ , aren’t they?” Benedick contributed. He really was extremely cold and beginning to feel a little ignored.

“So this is your heritage?” Pedro indicated to the ancient castle walls surrounding them.

“I’m not sure any of my ancestors would have lived in a castle.”

Benedick agreed while rubbing his arms to stay warm. “No, it was the English in the castles. The Welsh were out working the land, collecting dirt, you know, peasanty things.”

“‘Prince Balthazar’ does have a ring to it though, doesn’t it?”

Pedro and Balthazar were grinning at each other in that way that they had been doing a lot recently – the way that made Benedick feel as if he was intruding rather than taking part in a conversation between friends.

He looked around to see where Beatrice and Hero had got to and saw them by the entrance to one of the towers. Something stopped him from going over to join them though. The ‘something’ being a yellow-haired, spear-tongued ‘something’ who had a tendency to crush his soul beneath her heal.

Balthazar was now leaning over pointing to the map on Pedro’s lap. “See, there’s no v so the f is a _vuh_ sound.”

“What makes a _fuh_ sound then?” Pedro asked, his eyes not on the map.

“If there’s two f’s, like, um, here.”

“Oh, yeah, that makes sense,” Pedro said dryly, giving the map a cursory glance then fixing his eyes back on Balthazar.

Benedick stood up and stamped his feet in an attempt to eradicate the chill. “I’m going to have a walk around. It’s too cold for outdoor Welsh lessons.”

“How do you say the double l’s?” Pedro was asking.

“I’m not very good at it,” Balthazar said. “You put your tongue at the top of your mouth and blow out.”

“Hello? Benedick? Existing right here? Anyone?”

“Like this?” Pedro gave a poor attempt and Balthazar laughed. “Hey, I’m trying!”

Benedick walked off.

It was several minutes later when Beatrice found him shivering by the main gate.

“You look like an icicle,” she commented in the detached way that she had perfected whenever talking to Benedick.

“It’s freezing,” he chattered.

“You should’ve bought some warmer clothes.” It was true. For some reason Benedick had completely failed on the packing front. He had brought with him about twenty t-shirts, five pairs of shoes but only two jumpers and one thin coat.

“That would be a waste of money. I’ve got warm clothes at home.”

“You just decided not to bring them because you completely forgot that your native land has the worst weather of anywhere in the world?”

Benedick didn’t respond, just jiggled on the stop.

Eventually, Beatrice rolled her eyes and said, “Here, have my scarf and hat. I’m alright,” and began to remove them.

“You don’t need to be nice to me,” Benedick frowned at her. “I know it goes against your fundamental make-up to say a single thing to me that isn’t spiteful.”

“Woah!” Beatrice held her hands up. “Where did that come from?”

“Ah, fuck!” Benedick stamped his feet and didn’t look Beatrice in the eye, blowing air out between his teeth. “Fuck, fuck fuck. I'm - I’m just _really_ cold.”

Beatrice strongly considered saying something genuinely spiteful but the desire to do so melted at the sight of Benedick looking so hopeless. She rolled her eyes again with a greater amount of emphasis. “You’re literally a child. Let’s go back to Francis, then. I’m castled out anyway. The others will catch-up.”

Benedick muttered something under his breath but followed Beatrice as she began to walk out towards the car park. She even managed to force her purple knitted hat down over his ears with minimal complaints.

**Author's Note:**

> So... notice the nod to everyone's favourite troubadour??  
> This chapter goes out to any Welsh flamango(e)s out there. Anyone? ...No? Just me??  
> Fine, just to the half-Welsh, half-Australasians ;) (you know who you are)  
> I am actually only Welsh by marriage but I siarad a bit of the old cymraeg and everything. Wyt ti'n eisiau bod yn ffrindiau??  
> This random headcanon that Balthazar is in some small portion Welsh come courtesy of his surname, Jones. He may as well have been named Balthazar Welshy-Welsh-ap-Welsh-Welsh in my mind.  
> Ok, enough, I promise the rest of the Wales based chapters won't be quite so patriotic... Though if Benedick says a single sheep joke he is being left on the roadside (she says, as if she has no control over how Benedick behaves in her own fic)


End file.
